Of the things I can remember, most of them appear to reside in the years prior to about 1985. I have a sense that perhaps eight years ago this statement from me would have been inaccurate. In the meanwhile, I have achieved a worrisome state whereby I can look at the place where I have now lived for most of the current century and feel as though I have been here forever, yet I remember very little of it. The sense of being here forever, and the closeness of memories prior to about 1985, leaves a void of around twenty six years. So it's possible that by this time next month I might have further deteriorated, which means I should quickly join with the political class and consider the word legacy. What will I say on my death bed. And so far, in this area, I have spent more time than is perhaps natural allowing my mind to become diverted by a list of faults in the various absurd rules and regulations that govern the practices of financial interests in that area of activity which ends with a "funeral." I am sure you too will be shocked to hear that I'd have to be flown to somewhere in Asia so that I might be "funeral-ed" as Zoroastrian. And the Asian Gyps Vulture is no more deserving than the Turkey and Black Vulture here in my own sweet state of Kentucky.
To be remembered for something like "I wish I had been born in a nest ninety thousand years ago," is not well tuned to the angelic chorus of coin and mortgage rates and the tapestries of hell which have been knitted for us by those who will insist in the progress of our species. Nor might promulgating a view of the political impulse as a psychosis with it's root deep in a paranoia issuing from technical innovations that began with perhaps mastery of fire and the idle curiosity of early flint knappers, or what others might call, "Property." Which is as good an explanation for the "Expulsion from Eden" that I have come across. But as a rule, in the matter of legacy, these sort of antithetical views, unless properly couched by provenance, mark a person as leaning toward nut case. Such statements lack the positive flare, there is no suggestion of 'determined contribution,' or 'good news.' There is no hint in them of an energy that might persuade a population to leap for the telephone and randomly call complete strangers. However there is an evocativeness from certain song phrases that I have found most useful in maintaining a more reasonable tie to being upon earth. "Give me a String Bean," from Bob Dylan's song. Up there also is, "keys in the ginger jar," a refrain from South Wales that still rings the chime in me. And high in this list of brilliance are the words, "Don't Tempt Me," from the twenty first century song Flip Out by Slipperz. And it's possible too that beyond such phrases and the odd rain shower, it's not worth travelling.